Tag Archives: Faith

The Sunrise of Grace

 

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I love Easter. Resurrection. Hope. New life. Beginning. Overcoming. Love. All of that. I love all of that. And Cadbury eggs, I love those too.

I love that Easter is the sunset of Working hard and doing it myself and the sunrise of Jesus did it all for me. That’s it. When I wake up to the Easter sunrise each year, I am reminded all over again that it’s not up to me. And what a relief that is!

I know myself. I know the deepest, darkest, most unattractive corners of my heart. I know that no matter how many times I tell myself Today, I will not lose my patience. I will try hard and speak kindly no matter what grates on my very last ever-lovin’ nerve, I still lose it and feel annoyed and often, I act and sound annoyed. I know that no matter how many resolutions I make to do better, act better, be better, I fall back into old patterns and habits. No matter how many times I turn over a new leaf, my old self turns right back up. If it were all up to me, if a relationship with God or an address in Heaven were all up to me, then I would have no hope. No way would the good I do outweigh my every mistake and bad thought and selfishness and outright, willful sin.

That is what I so love about Jesus! He is all about loving people like me. Jesus knows we could never be good enough. He knows that no matter how much I try, I just can’t pull myself up by my bootstraps and get my act together. And so Jesus came to be perfect and die and come back to life again. For me. As a totally free gift. Grace. Sweet, sweet grace.

The cross is the death of my working hard and trying to earn God’s approval. The cross is the end of my own efforts. On the cross, Jesus did for me what I couldn’t do. And Easter is all about giving up and receiving Grace. Easter is all about this new life, this living in Grace. Resting in Jesus, trusting that He is enough.

If you’re exhausted from all the hard work of trying to do it yourself, maybe you’d like to let all that die this Easter. Maybe you’re ready for the Easter sunrise of Grace, a new life of resting in what Jesus has already done. Or maybe you just need a reminder – stop trying so hard, as if it all depends on you; we’re living in GRACEland now, Friend.

Happy Easter!

My King & His Amazing Love

*originally posted March 25, 2013 

Yesterday morning I stood in church singing, “You are my King. Jesus, You are my King.” As I sang, I imagined people lining a road into Jerusalem, laying down coats and palm branches for Jesus to ride over. I imagined their voices rising, “Hosanna! Blessed is the coming kingdom of David!”

I imagined they too were singing, “Jesus, You are my King!”

For a long time I was baffled that some of the very same people who lay down their coats and shouted, “Hosanna, Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” would, just days later, shout, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” 

Yet there I stood on a Sunday morning singing with all my heart, “You are my King. You are my King. Jesus, You are my King.” And hours later those same lips would be stretched tight in anger, shouting to my sons to put the mattresses back onto the beds, to stop trashing their rooms, to stop disobeying me. And later, that same heart that overflowed with praise for Jesus would ignore His Spirit’s promptings to calm down. Instead, I’d go right ahead and speak angry words to my husband.

My own sin would cry out my need for His crucifixion. “Crucify him! Crucify him!” 

And that’s not the first time. Many times – an uncomfortably embarrassing amount of times – my heart has filled to brimming over with praise for God and His goodness. But then, He doesn’t perform as I expect. Circumstances don’t turn out the way I plan. He’s not the King I anticipated. There’s far more suffering and pain and blood and gore and sacrifice than I ever imagined. So my heart fills with disappointment and anger. I move on to Plan B, figuring I’ll just take it into my own hands because I could probably do a better job.

So, I understand. I get it. I can see how even good people could stand alongside a dirt road in Jerusalem and shout “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David. . . . Jesus, you are our King!” I can believe they meant it with all their all-too-human hearts. And then they watched as their expectations crumbled, their hopes were dashed, their plans fell through. I can understand how they’d think, “Wait! . . . He’s not the King I anticipated. This isn’t the way I planned for it all to work out.”

And though I’d like to think I wouldn’t have been one of the many screaming, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” I know chances are I would have either been shouting with the crowds or hidden away in fear with the disciples. And whichever the case, my own sin would necessitate the cries, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

But the beauty is — Jesus knows this about me. He knew it about me before I was even born. He knew it about that crowd in Jerusalem that day when He rode the donkey and watched them hail Him as King. He knew the truth about His disciples, that they’d run and hide and deny Him. He knew it as He taught them and poured into them and loved them all those three years. He knows we’ll fail. He knows we’re capable of praising Him one minute and cursing the next.

That’s why He came. That’s why He died for us. That’s why He rose again. To overcome our sin. To overcome our failures.

“Amazing love, How can it be, That You my King would die for me? Amazing love, I know it’s true. And it’s my joy to honor You. . . . Jesus, You are my King. Jesus, You are my King.” (*lyrics by Chris Tomlin)

 

We Are Weak Together

You know, I appreciate the idea that in my weakness I most see God’s strength manifested. I do. I appreciate the notion that I am completely dependent on God, totally reliant on Him to accomplish anything worthwhile. Those are good thoughts. They come straight from the Bible. I know those principles are true. Set against a lovely sunset and worded in sing-song verse, they make the perfect To Encourage You greeting cards.

But honestly, the reality of living those thoughts pretty much stinks. It’s not fun to feel weak. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling utterly dependent on God. Do you?

No, I prefer the times God seems to say, Hey, Jenn, I made you naturally talented in this area, so I’m plugging you in here. Now shine! And there are times God works like that. I LOVE it when He works like that! When I’m doing those things I believe I was born to do, I feel confident and grateful and so alive!

Sometimes, though, God intentionally puts us in a place of dependence on Him. He makes it so obvious that I need Him. And, of course, I know I do need Him. I just prefer not to feel so desperately dependent on Him. I prefer that underlying theoretical I need Him because He’s God and I know any strength I have is because He gave it to me, now watch me keep these plates spinning on my own! 

I was talking with some friends about this the other day. We have all been stretched beyond ourselves this year doing a ministry that seems so much bigger and harder than anything we should be leading. So many times we have raised our eyebrows and looked at each other, laughing, like  Can you believe anyone let us be in charge of this?! Shouldn’t they have picked the real grown-ups?! And other times, we have floundered and cried and felt foolish and frustrated because Really, God? Really? Did we misunderstand You? Was this really Your idea? Because we don’t want to insult you, God, but we would have thought You could plan this all out better and find someone capable of actually doing these jobs well! You know, seeing as how You are God and all. 

And I’m not going to tie this all up with a pretty little Christianese ribbon. I just can’t. I’m not in that place. I just want you to know, friends, if you are feeling weak and bucking against that, you are not alone. If you are struggling to lean into God and give in to that feeling of full reliance on Him, I’m right there with you. I’m here, acknowledging that you are doing a hard thing. It’s hard to own your weakness and trust that God is strong. We are doing this hard thing together, friends. We are holding on to Him, hedging all our bets that He is Who He claims to be and that He won’t let us down.

I’m here, holding on with you, weakly grasping onto His hand and your hand. We are weak together. And somehow, it’s going to be OK.

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Profound Love or Deep Hurt

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Andy Stanley says there are two categories of people who influence us and form us into the people we become, “those who hurt you deeply and those who loved you profoundly.”

In the past ten years, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking, speaking and writing about how we can make a positive impact on the world, or at least on our own little corner of the world. I’ve also attempted to use my own strengths for good – to practice what I preach. I’ve thought about our strengths and passions and great delight and the world’s deep needs and how those things intersect. And I wasn’t wrong.

But then I go and hear this thought by Andy Stanley and everything within me says, Of course! Yes! Of course, that’s true! Yes, yes, yes! 

We are influenced and shaped by the people who hurt us to the core and by the people who love us from their core. I have made the most impact on the people I have deeply hurt and the people I have profoundly loved. I’m sure of it.

As I’ve thought about this for the last few days, I’ve lamented, mourned over, the times I have left my mark with deep hurt. I don’t want to influence others by the damage I leave in my wake. I want my legacy to be one of love.

If we want to positively influence this world, if we want to make a real impact, we must do everything with profound love. Radical, unconditional love. Yes, our strengths and passions and deep delights are involved. Yes, we can consider the needs around us and match our giftedness with those needs. But in order to most fully influence, to really leave our mark, love must be the undergirding force.

There are some things in my community I’m trying to change. There are some people I’m hoping to influence. I’m praying love will be my guiding force. If I’m going to shape my world, I aim to shape it with profound love.

If they’d had Facebook, would Paul have unfriended Barnabas? (or Disagreements Among Christians)

Are you ready for the understatement of the year? Here it is — Sometimes Christians disagree with each other. As if you could spend any time on the internet and not realize that! Right?

We can read the exact same passage of scripture and pray over it and wrestle with it and come away with two (or three or four . . .) very different meanings. And I don’t claim to know how that happens. And the peacemaker middle children everywhere would probably much rather have God spell everything out exactly so there is nothing gray anywhere, then we’d all just get along already.

It’s not only our understanding of scripture that differs but our perspective and preferences and approach to life can also be quite diverse. Some of that can be chalked up to being at various points along the path of spiritual maturity, but some of it is simply because God doesn’t have one specific mold he presses His people from. We come from different places. We have different personalities. We have different passions and interests. We come at scripture from different backgrounds and with different mindsets.

Disagreements among Christians aren’t new. Believers have disagreed with each other ever since being a Christian became a thing. In the book of Acts in the Bible we can read about the very first followers of Jesus disagreeing with each other. You know, I love that the Bible isn’t a PR-spin for God showing the good and hiding the bad, but a book about real people with real quirks and warts and three-dimensional personalities. Sometimes those real people didn’t see eye to eye – which is refreshing and encouraging because I don’t always see eye to eye with every other Christian.

Early on, the first followers of Jesus were Jewish, and they thought the Church should reflect the Jewishness of Jesus (and themselves). These believers wanted new converts to be circumcised. Other believers reminded them that God was more concerned with a person’s heart than with his . . . you know. Some early believers wanted everyone to follow Jewish dietary laws. Others believed all food was fair game, so to speak, and people could eat what they wanted with freedom and a clear conscience.

Two early Christian leaders, Paul and Barnabas, even had a big argument about whether Mark could come with them on a mission trip. Paul thought Mark was an unreliable quitter; Barnabas wanted to show him mercy and give him a second chance. They had such a “sharp disagreement” that Paul took Silas and went one direction and Barnabas took Mark and went another. And the Bible doesn’t say who was right and who was wrong. It really doesn’t even seem to matter to God. He used Paul and his team and Barnabas and his team and got twice the work done in the same amount of time. Because God has that amazing way of using everything to bring good.

Sometimes, like in the case of the dietary laws and the circumcision issue, the early Church leaders met and talked it out and prayed it out and formed a compromise so as to protect and honor everyone’s backgrounds and preferences as much as possible. Sometimes God used men like Paul to encourage the people not to worry about who is right and who is wrong, but to focus on respecting each other and loving each other. He even advised the early believers who were right to give up their rights in order to better love others. It seems that being right about the nonessentials isn’t nearly as important to God as loving each other.

Paul, on authority from God, instructed those first Christians to stop judging each other in matters nonessential to the faith, to make every effort to get along, to be patient with the weaknesses and failures of others. He encouraged the believers to accept each other just as Christ accepted each of them. (Read Romans, chapters 13, 14, 15 for more on this.)

I’ll be honest with you. Sometimes I get caught up in debates. I want to be right, and I want to convince you that I am right. But when I read how those early Church leaders handled conflict and I read Paul’s advice, I want to do better. I want to be better. I want to remember that just as I am living out my beliefs to God, other Christians are living out their beliefs to God. We will all stand before God and answer for ourselves.

In the meantime, my job is to love my neighbor as myself and dress myself with Jesus — put on Jesus every day so it’s like I’m wearing Jesus, completely encapsulated in Jesus.

My job is to love, doing no harm to my neighbor. God’s job is to be God – to judge and to shake it all out for good.

Failure, Success, My Over-Critical Brain, and God

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Today I have been thinking about success.

I tend to be a bit critical. Sometimes of others. But I am most critical of myself. At the risk of sounding like a complete loon I will tell you — after I lead a small group or speak to a large group or participate in a Bible study or lead a children’s program or attend a meeting or (for the LOVE!) have a normal, everyday conversation, I replay every detail in my mind and analyze it all. I chastise myself for wording this thought the wrong way or for blurting out something without thinking it through. I beat myself up for talking too much, for saying that sarcastic comment, for making that joke that someone could have taken the wrong way.

I have a pretty finite idea of what success looks like. Success = top performance. Success = perfection. Imperfections, mistakes, putting my foot in my mouth — all of that = failure. And as I drive home from wherever or lie down to sleep at night, my brain whirs with the replay of failures. I don’t want to be a satan-behind-every-rock kinda girl, but I really believe this is part of what he does to debilitate us. The Bible calls him our accuser. He shoots fiery darts of accusations at us. Some of those whispers in my head telling me how I came up short again, how I flubbed this one up — some of those whispers are from my own overanalytical, neurotic self. But some of those whispers certainly come from the enemy who wants to paralyze me with fear of more failure.

And so I must recognize those whisper-thoughts as the lies and hatefulness that they are. The Bible calls this taking thoughts captive to the obedience of Christ. 

In the quiet moments, in the aftermath of my interactions with others, when those whisper-thoughts are attacking me, I have to breathe a deep breath. Then when my brain has enough oxygen to fully function, I have to remember that my definition of success is just plain wrong.

My math is a bit fuzzy. You see, real success does not equal perfection. Real success allows for failure and growth and authenticity and vulnerability. Real success allows for merciful moments of redemption amidst the flaws and failure — because that is when we often see God’s hand at work. Real success is not about my saying all the right things and being in control. Real success isn’t about me at all. Real success is all about allowing for God’s plan to prevail. 

God’s kingdom is a sort of upside-down kingdom. His math isn’t exactly like our math. The definitions in His language aren’t the same as our definitions. God’s kingdom is a kingdom in which the first are last and the last are first. The lowly are exalted and the high and mighty are humbled and made low. Our weaknesses are exactly the best places for His strengths to show up and show off.

You see, when we’re doing life with God, our failures don’t negate success; our failures become opportunities for God to work. His speciality is making good from everything. He promises He will! When we love Him, He works everything out for our good and His glory.

So I don’t have to do the slow-motion replay after every conversation and interaction. When the critical whispers in my head start aiming their fiery dart-words at me, I can capture those thoughts and breathe truth onto them, extinguishing them. True success is about God’s working in every situation to bring good for us and glory for Himself. And any failure of mine isn’t big enough to stop God from doing His thing. That’s the truth!

Raising Good Kids

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There is this quote that keeps popping up on Facebook. I think it originated on the Momastery blog and was first written by Glennon Melton.

Don’t let yourself be so concerned with raising a good kid that you forget you already have one.

Wow, do I need to remember that! Sometimes I feel such a weight of responsibility of raising these people to be good, kind, caring, responsible, hardworking, grateful citizens. And I forget to notice all that is already pretty fantastic about them. I also forget that I can really only do so much; God is the only One who can truly change hearts and produce righteousness.

So today I vow to notice the good. I will limit correction and pick my battles so as not to exasperate or overwhelm my children. Good grief! If I had someone zeroing in on my faults and correcting them on a daily basis, I would be completely defeated and overwhelmed. Yet I sometimes do that to my children! I obsess about a perceived character flaw or a set of perceived character flaws, and then I feel like I have to point it out and correct it every time it comes up.

I soooo do not have to do that. I mean, yes, I do have a responsibility to correct wrong behavior and -more importantly- to talk about the attitudes or motivations or heart-issues that will make life more difficult or that reveal selfishness and sin. And I have a responsibility to allow my children to experience negative consequences for poor choices. But I do not have to point out every flaw or weakness. I can pray for wisdom about what needs to be addressed. And then I can address it in love, rather than in anger or frustration or annoyance.

Most importantly, I can trust God’s Holy Spirit to do the same thing for my children that He does for me. My momma job description does not include being a little holy spirit for my children. Too often, though, that’s how I act.

Lately, I’ve lost focus of what great kids I already have as I have honed in on their faults. Honestly, that makes for a pretty miserable time for my kiddos. And it is totally counterproductive! Because my true desire is to have authentic, meaningful, grace-filled relationships with my children.

So — deep breath and reboot. Let me tell you about these great kids I have . . . Better yet, I’ll tell them how great they are.

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I Am Not Enough

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Having six children in seven-and-a-half years made one thing very clear to me — I cannot do life in my own power and strength. Trying to care for so many little people day in and day out was completely overwhelming. Feeding them, diapering them, keeping them safe, bathing them, getting them to sleep – in those early years, I always felt like it was just too much.

I was not enough.

No place was my not-enough-ness more evident than when I took them all to the grocery store. More specifically – when we tried to get from the big, black Suburban in the parking lot to the inside of the store. When you have more little children than you do hands to hold onto them and you are traversing a parking lot, you feel your inadequacy. I had an Atari when I was a kid, and I played enough Frogger to know that one wrong move was all it took. I was absolutely terrified that one of my little children would dart away from my reach and a careless driver would flatten him, like Frogger on that four-lane highway.

So I carefully planned my strategy — park beside the cart-return with a cart in it, unload the smallest children from the Suburban into the cart, have older children hold onto the sides of the cart and make my way through the parking lot with most of the children safely contained. Sometimes, though, a thorough cart-retrieving man in an orange vest had already cleaned out all the cart-returns. Or we were trying to cross a church or playground parking lot. No shopping carts at those places. And so I prayed my way across the parking lot. I’d wear the baby in a sling and hold tightly onto little hands and slightly bigger hands would hang onto my shirt tail with firm instructions not to let go. Then I would pray – usually silently, though a time or two I may have felt especially desperate and uttered an audible plea for help.

Each time we made it safely across a big, scary parking lot, my heart would overflow with thanksgiving. Whew, we’d done it. And I hadn’t lost anyone! Hallelujah!

I knew that all the variables in the parking lot situation were beyond my control, so I learned to ask God for help and then trust Him. I know I could have learned this life lesson a hundred different ways, but I’m really grateful God taught me these lessons in really tangible ways by giving me more little children than I had hands for at the time.

Now, my kiddos are all big enough to walk across a parking lot without being held in a death grip by their momma. I am not literally praying my way across parking lots any more. But I am often still aware of my not-enough-ness. I don’t have enough money, enough time, enough energy, enough wisdom, enough creativity, enough patience, enough humor. I am not enough. So I think back to those days of praying tiny little inch-step by inch-step across a large parking lot, then I pray my way across whatever seems too much for me in that moment.

This is what it looks like to abide in Jesus. This is what it looks like to live in His power. Stretched beyond my ability to control, I ask for help and trust in the only One Who is always in control. Recognizing my inadequacy, I look to the One Who is always enough.

I am not enough. But Jesus is more than enough. And He invites me to attach myself to Him and live in His enough-ness, one step across the parking lot at a time.

The Grace Microwave ~ remix

When we moved to FL and crammed our 8-person family into an apartment surrounded by a bunch of other missionary families who were sometimes all up in our business, I quickly realized the beauty and humiliating pain of grace. In 2011, I wrote about it. 

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You know what’s the fast track for learning to live in grace? The microwave cooking version of learning grace? Living in an apartment building with a bunch of other missionaries. No, wait. Living in an apartment building with your children and a bunch of other missionaries.

Yeah, there’s no pretending. No putting on a show. It is what it is. You are what you are. And everyone sees. Or hears.

Shortly after we moved here, my girls were leaving their bedroom window open just a little. With no screen. It didn’t take long for the boys to discover this. And it took even less time for the boys to find great sport in tossing things from our third floor window to the bushes below. Legos, hair brushes, paperwads, Polly Pockets, the sisters’ panties.

I didn’t realize the boys were doing this until the girls looked out their window one day and spied their stuff, their embarrassing stuff, in the bushes. I don’t even know how many times I traipsed down three flights of stairs and around the building to retrieve army men and K’nex creations and American Girl doll shoes and embarrassing little girl underthings.

The boys also discovered tiny bubbles in the paint in the hallways of the building. Self-control is not the most natural character trait in most little boys — and certainly not in my boys. So they picked at the bubbles and peeled at the paint until we had a spot strangely resembling the state of Texas in our hallway. Yeah, there’s no hiding that.

When the fire alarm screams at midnight, there’s no pretense. We stand around outside with all of our co-workers in whatever we happen to be wearing at midnight.

If the children are asleep, I can hear my downstairs neighbor’s surround sound television. If my apartment is completely quiet, I can hear him sneeze. And you know what that means? He and his family can hear us. (Shudder!) Because I’m sure it’s quiet in their apartment a lot more often than it’s quiet in mine!

So when my boys run and jump and turn cartwheels and thump on the floor, the people downstairs hear them. And that very next second, when I shout, “Hey! No jumping! The people downstairs will think you’re falling through the ceiling!” Yeah, they hear that too.

When I completely lose it and go all DragonMomma and start breathing fire and smoking at the ears, the neighbors can hear that. People who don’t know me well often think I’m so patient and one of those have-it-all-together mothers. After living here for four years, I’m pretty sure nobody in my building believes those illusions of me.

When you live in a building like this, there’s no putting on the mask and playing perfect Christian family. There’s no way to pretend or act every hour of every day. Children behave like children; they make messes and noise and mistakes. And sometimes I am exhausted and out of patience and I react with lots of myself and very little Jesus.

And so I fall into grace. And there is something really freeing about not being able to pretend. I’ve had imperfect children and been an imperfect mother right in front of God and everyone, and the world hasn’t crashed down around us. Instead, grace abounds.

This living arrangement has been an intense tutor in my need for grace and in learning to give grace to others. (Because they aren’t perfect Christians either.)

We’ve also learned to fix windows so boys can’t throw their sisters’ panties into the bushes.

How about you? Have you ever been in the Grace Microwave? 

The Gift Of Rest

photo-56Friends, do you see this hot mess of a living room? On Saturday — this past Saturday. January 18, a full 24 days after Christmas — I was finally taking down and putting away our Christmas decorations. And smack in the middle of it all, I felt like I was hit by a bus. Coughing, dizzy, weak, achy, feverish, I got up, left this mess and crawled into bed. And so from Saturday until Tuesday my living room looked like maybe I’d been abducted by aliens or maybe the rapture happened. Whatever the case, all the people who walk in my neighborhood undoubtedly looked in my large picture window and wondered why we had a naked tree standing in our living room. Maybe they think it’s some cool, understated hipster way of decorating and soon, naked trees will be standing in all the living rooms in my ‘hood. Maybe I still have a bit of a fever.

But that’s not really my point. (Unless this naked tree thing becomes A Thing, in which case, I totally want credit.)

This picture perfectly captures what the past week has been like for me — a sudden stop in productivity. Last Tuesday, a couple of my children came home from school exhausted, took naps and woke up with fevers. So my week, my plans, my productivity, came to a screeching halt. Except for a couple hours Friday morning, I spent the rest of the week at home resting with the various children who caught our little plague.

Then Saturday, right in the middle of being productive, I got it. The plague. All my plans for the rest of the day were chucked. Sunday was even worse. I woke with a temperature over 102 and spent the day in bed. I read and watched Netflix in small portions. Any more than that made the pain behind my eyes throb even worse. So I slept. A lot.

Now that I’m starting to recover from this awful virus, we have snow and ice. School and all activities have been canceled.

Because of this sickness and the weather, I have been forced to rest.

You see, my schedule is over-full. I have spread myself thin this school year. With the children’s activities, my husband’s travel schedule, my own part-time job and all the other things I’ve said yes to,  there has been little time for rest. I’m almost always multi-tasking, or when I’m doing one thing I feel guilty that I’m not doing the other thing that really needs done too. Many days, it seems I’m not doing anything well because I’m just trying to do everything good enough.

The thing is – I enjoy most all the things I’m doing. I’m doing things that really do employ my strengths and talents. Doing, going, producing, working, performing – it all feels so good. I matter. I’m needed.

But I don’t have time to just be. And I think that is the lesson I’ve been missing. Oh, I am such a slow learner. Fortunately, God is relentless in His mercy and grace. Last summer, I was waylaid with that whole faulty gallbladder mess. Then in the fall, I had to rest and recover from the surgery. And that whole situation took much longer than I anticipated it would. But because I tend to have a thick skull, I clearly didn’t learn the lesson of rest in all of that. So here I am again.

And my soul sighs. Be still. 

I do not matter because of all the doing and going and producing and working and performing. I matter because I am. My value is not in all I can accomplish in the day. My worth is not wrapped up in all the ways I can say yes to those who ask of my time and talents. And just because I can do something – or just because I am good at something – does not mean it is mine to do. If all the doing and going and working prevents me from being, then I have gotten it all wrong.

So it’s time to reevaluate. But not now, not today. Right now, I’ll rest. I’ll receive this gift of grace, this gift of Be still. And I’ll rest.

And you? Do you get caught up in the doing and going and producing and working and performing? Do you forget that your value is not in all you can accomplish? Do you need to rest?

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